


Tailor Made

by WintersLonging (LivingSilver)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slow Build, Smut, but maybe there is some plot, i guess for smut, professionalism kink, title usage kink, unprotected sex, what counts as plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/WintersLonging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look, I know you’re really committed to this hobo chic look you have going on-“<br/>Bucky raises his eyebrows. Hobo chic? He doesn’t look like a hobo; he does his laundry and keeps his long hair trimmed. Sometimes he shaves, more often than not he doesn’t.<br/>“-but it would be really great if you could you know make an effort. Look sharp. For the charity event next month.”<br/>Bucky has stopped mid-chew to focus his full energy on glaring at Stark, who is completely unaffected of course.<br/>“Here’s the card for my tailor. She’s amazing really. Miracle worker. Give her a call.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Fitting

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I'm awful and I probably should have written something for my Motorcycle Diaries series instead, but I've had this idea for awhile inspired by some Sebastian/Reader fics along the same lines and personal sewing experience but I wanted to write one with Bucky. I really struggled with keeping Bucky in character, because I wanted him to be something in between cocky!Bucky and still kind of adjusting Bucky, so I'm not sure how well I've succeeded. Also first time writing from 2nd person, it was a tough decision, because I personally don't like it most of the time. Unbeta'd.
> 
> I made a blog here: jamesfckmebarnes.tumblr.com , for accepting NSFW Bucky/Reader prompts. *whispers* send me things.

“Hey! Barnes!”

Bucky grimaces into his coffee at the sound of Tony Stark’s sharp greeting. It’s too early for this. He’s just trying to enjoy his breakfast in peace and gather his thoughts for the day.

Tony stands next to where he’s sitting at the counter.

“Look, I know you’re really committed to this hobo chic look you have going on-“

Bucky raises his eyebrows. Hobo chic? He doesn’t look like a hobo; he does his laundry and keeps his long hair trimmed. Sometimes he shaves, more often than not he doesn’t.

“-but it would be really great if you could you know make an effort. Look sharp. For the charity event next month.”

Bucky has stopped mid-chew to focus his full energy on glaring at Stark, who is completely unaffected of course.

“Here’s the card for my tailor. She’s amazing really. Miracle worker. Give her a call.”

He sets the card down next to Bucky’s plate when he doesn’t take it, and pats him on the shoulder before leaving him to process what exactly just happened. Yeah, he knew about the charity event next month to help with the Avenger’s image, and someone might have mentioned it was going to be formal, but he hadn’t really given it much thought. Like yes, now he’s realizing he will need a suit. And since integrating himself back into society his wardrobe has consisted of nothing but jeans, sweatpants, and t shirts. Suddenly, the prospect of figuring out contemporary men’s formal wear on his own is…daunting to say the least. He could always ask Steve for advice and he’s sure Natasha would love to take him on a shopping trip, but having a suit tailored means possibly exposing his arm and he doesn’t relish the thought of most reactions people could have.

He pictures himself in a designer men’s boutique with Natasha with sales people shoving option after option under his nose and gawping at his metal arm when he had to slip in and out of shirts and suit jackets. But this one? She works with Stark? So maybe she’s used to working with other—super people? Or whatever he’s supposed to be too? He picks up the card, considering it carefully. It looks professional enough, simple black and white, no frills except for the scripted lettering. He slips it into his pocket for later.

 

You pick up the phone on the second ring.

“Hello, thank you for calling, what can I do for you today?” Your voice is friendly but not overly so in a fake retail kind of way.

“Hi, uhhh-“ he pauses, god he really should have thought this through. “I was referred to this number by Tony Stark?”

“Oh, yes. I get a lot of clients from Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah? I ummm, need a suit for the Avengers charity event? Next month?” His hand rubs across the back of his neck nervously. What if you refuse him after he gives you a name? He knows there are still some pretty divided opinions about his past.

“Are you interested in having something tailored or having something custom made? I do both, although I must say a month is a little tight for a custom make.”

“Uhhhh, I’m not really sure? Mr. Stark- he just said to give you a call.” By this point, Bucky feels like a complete idiot.

“I see. Not a problem. We can discuss options at our first meeting. Can I get a name for the appointment?”

Bucky bites his lip.

“Bucky. Barnes.” He waits to hear a little click at the other end when you hang up on him, but you don’t.

“Great, and when would you like to meet Mr. Barnes? Of course, I’m completely willing to work around your schedule but may I suggest the sooner, the better?” Your voice is still friendly like before. No trace of recognition at his name. You agree to meet not tomorrow, but the day after. He gives you his room number at the tower, as you only make house calls. He supposes that’s the kind of service high end clientele like Stark prefer.

You knock softly at the room number he gave you. A small rush of anxiety floods through you in the moments before the door opens. Bucky Barnes being recruited by the Avengers a few months had been controversial to say the least with people divided over the subject of his guilt. Personally, you had always believed he wasn’t to be held responsible for the actions of Hydra. However, there was still something slightly intimidating about working with him.

Bucky takes one last sweeping glance about the room to make sure nothing is out of place before opening the door. He’s greeted by the sight of you, classic black pumps, sheer black stockings, black pencil skirt, white blouse, sewing chest and a large designer purse in hand. Of course you would be beautiful. Tony seems to surround himself only with beautiful people.

When the door opens, you know you’re in trouble. He’s gorgeous. Shoulder length brown hair, five o’clock shadow, a jawline that is probably sharper than your best fabric scissors. Your eyes fall to the upturned pout of his lips. Stunning steel blue eyes are sizing you up.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes?”

“Yeah that’s me.” He says opening the door wider to let you in.

“It’s so nice to meet you.” You say keeping your voice cool but friendly. He clears his throat nervously.

“You can set your things down anywhere.” Bucky offers, not really sure what to expect.

You survey the tidy, minimalistically furnished room before choosing a spot next to the unoccupied computer desk that sits against a wall, and begin pulling out a clipboard, some paper, a tape measure, etc.

“I’m going to start by taking your measurements, Mr. Barnes” you say while continuing to set things out on the desk. You pause when you look over and realize he’s wearing sweat pants.

“I apologize Mr. Barnes, but I can’t take your measurements properly if you’re wearing sweatpants. I’m sorry I forgot to mention to wear fitted clothing.”

Bucky chews his bottom lip.

“So I’ll just take them off?” He asks unsure of what you want him to do exactly.

“You can take them off and wear jeans or you can just leave them off. Whatever, will make you most comfortable.”

Bucky is used to having all kinds of medical people poke and prod at his half naked body so he slips the sweatpants off gracefully, leaving him in fitted black boxers and a white v-neck shirt.

You try not to stare, but he’s so tall with lithely muscled legs that seem to go on for miles.  And he somehow manages to make a white t-shirt seem like a work of art.

“I’m sorry, this is going to take longer than usual. I take quite extensive measurements and my assistant decided to call in today”. Which means instead of simply calling out measurements, you’ll have to stop to write them all down yourself.

Those broad shoulders shrug smoothly.

“I don’t have anywhere else to be”.

“Good. Because I like to take my time.” You cringe internally at the unintended double entendre. One corner of Bucky’s mouth twists up slightly in response. You motion for him to come closer to the desk where you have the measurement sheet laid out.

“Stand straight with your feet hip width apart and arms by your side, and look straight ahead. Before I start, please feel free to let me know if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, Mr. Barnes.”

“Please call me, Bucky”.

You step in front of him, slipping the tape measure behind his neck and lifting his hair out of the way so you can pull it taught around his throat. His pulse is faint against where your fingers meet his skin.

“I assure you, I’m not on a first name basis with any of my clients Mr. Barnes”. You inform him quietly.

“Not even with Stark?” Bucky asks, quirking an eyebrow. He wonders how long you’ve been his tailor. If you had been since his playboy days.

“Not even with Mr. Stark”. You say decisively, flicking your eyes up from the tape measure at his throat to his blue gaze. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Well you said to let you know if anything makes me uncomfortable.” He teases wryly, using your words against you.

You look down, unable to hold his gaze, as you move the tape measure down to the base of his throat.

“So I did. Unfortunately, this a point I don’t compromise on, Mr. Barnes”.

“Not even for a Sergeant Barnes?” He asks slyly.

He does have a point. It’s not his first name and it’s still using a title.

“Very well then, _Sergeant_ Barnes”. You emphasize the title teasingly.

Your eyes meet again before you lean away to record measurements on the sheet.

You remove the tape measure from his throat, and place the top in the dip where the shoulder and neck meet. Tentatively, you feel for the notch towards the back of the shoulder where the clavicle ends, it takes a few seconds to find and you have to press harder than you normally do because you can’t feel anything beneath layers of muscle; you imagine that you hear a hitch in Bucky’s breathing as your timid fingers pad over the dense tissue. Once you find the end of the joint, you measure to that point for the shoulder seam.

Keeping a hand on that point, you move behind him so you can measure across the back of his expansive shoulders. Normally, you would measure across to the same point on each shoulder, but the metal arm means you have to guess. You stroke a hand curiously over the metallic shoulder through the thin fabric of the shirt. You glance at where your other hand is placed and move your fingers from plate to plate until you’re satisfied that you’ve found an equivalent spot on the mechanic shoulder.

“Place your right hand on your hip please, Sergeant Barnes,” you direct him politely.

You circle the tape measure around the widest part of his bicep, feeling how much power is there even though you are only touching him with feather light pressure. You slide the measure down to his forearm. A few veins are outlined nicely beneath the surface of his skin and you push away the thought of tracing over them. You slide it down farther to his wrist and you can’t help but quickly study his hand. His fingers. You can tell. You can just tell they have the ability to tear you apart; sliding into you so slowly, twisting sweetly inside you. Feeling yourself starting to flush from the unexpected onslaught of images running through your head, you’re grateful for the opportunity to turn away so you can record the measurements.

Bucky is trying to distract himself with baseball stats, with anything really because the feeling of your small hands brushing ever so lightly and methodically over his skin as you pick up and place the measure, stroking a hand over it to keep it flat, is strangely sensual and intimate. His skin tingles pleasantly under your touch and if he doesn’t keep himself distracted, the evidence of just how good it feels is going to be showing in the front of his boxers. And having you call him “Sergeant Barnes” was a mistake. It sounds sweet in a way it hasn’t before in your breathy, polite little voice. He’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts, it takes him a second to realize that you’re looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, sorry what?”

“Do you want a glove for your left hand?” You ask again.

Yes. That would be best. He just wants to blend in. He doesn’t want the cybernetic left hand hanging out of the suit jacket drawing curious glances and whispers all night.

“Yeah. That’d be great,” Bucky says giving you a small smile.

And just like that, Bucky watches with interest as you reach for his cybernetic hand without hesitation, picking it up gently as if it were any other normal hand so you can wrap the measure around the circumference of the knuckles and then turning it face up almost tenderly to measure from the base of the palm up to the top of the middle finger. And fuck, he doesn’t know why, but that does something for him. Has his blood running hot. Something about the gleam of the plates in your delicate hands and the soft whirring sound they make beneath your touch.

You drop the arm slowly to rest back by his side, noticing his pupils are wider than before. You worry maybe you’ve offended him somehow, by touching his metal arm without asking.

“Is everything okay, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky swallows thickly.

“Yeah. Great.”

“Good. Arms out.”  He raises his arms so that they’re straight out and you step in close, feeling small as you reach your arms around his immense chest, grazing against his body as you do, and wrapping the measure around to meet in front for his chest measurement. You’re very careful not to look up because the urge to feel his perfectly shaped, impractically pink  mouth against yours is strong enough without having to acknowledge the proximity of your faces. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes as you drop the measure and step back to note it on the sheet.

The waist measurement is next. You trace your hand down his side until you can feel where the muscle dips in and out again oh-so-slightly, reveling at how impossibly firm the muscle is.

Hip follows. Most inexperienced tailors take the hip measurement incorrectly, measuring around the top of the hips, where the hip bones are. But it should actually be taken slightly below that, to account for the widest part of the hips and to include the curve of the ass. You size him up from the side and a pang of envy goes through you because he has a really nice ass. It might even be better than yours? You also try not to notice the faint shadow of his cock through his black boxers, but the cotton is soft and clingy so it’s really not your fault and now that you’ve seen it you can’t unsee it.

Bucky is still looking straight ahead as directed but he’s smirking now.

“You know, I feel like we should be on a first name basis if you’re going to stare at my ass like that,” he says roguishly.

A blush rises to your cheeks.

“Just doing my job, Sergeant,” You quip back, finally having decided where you want to place the measure. You lean in to hook the measure around his hip and then try to slide it lower slightly without— _fuck_. The measure slips out of your hand and brushes over the crotch of his boxers before dropping to the floor.

You hear a tiny huff and you can’t bring yourself to look up. He’s obviously annoyed by the unprofessionalism of the mistake. Embarrassment causes you to flush bright red but you try to remain competent.

Bucky almost sighs at the sensation of the measure brushing against him; he only manages to partially contain it at the last second, but it still escapes as a huff. He’s already desperately trying to keep from getting hard, seriously regretting his decision to forgo the jeans. The denim would be at least be partly concealing. These boxers aren’t going to hide anything. And he’ll be damned if he’s going to make this anymore awkward for you just because he couldn’t show any restraint.

“My apologies, Sergeant.” You say kneeling to pick up the measure. You decide to stay kneeling to the side of his hip so it will be easier to keep the measure level this time. The position causes you to idly wonder what it would be like to pull him forward and place chaste, teasing kisses over the sharp line of his hip, tongue flicking out just enough to taste the surface of his skin and down to- _stay professional._

 Bucky groans inwardly when you get down on your knees. He coincidentally happens to be facing the full length mirror that hangs outside his closet door, so he doesn’t even have to look down to see you. The sight of you kneeling next to him is all being reflected back at him with perfect clarity.

When your hands move down to his thigh, he looks down to track the movement out of habit.  He bites his lip to keep from moaning softly because he can’t help but imagine you on your knees for another reason entirely. The image of carding his fingers through your hair while you use that elegant little mouth of yours for less professional intentions is suddenly the only thing he can focus on.

You don’t even have to look up to know he’s looking down at you. His gaze burning into the top of your head.

“Keep looking straight please. It changes the measurement when you look down.” It’s a struggle to keep your voice even.

Bucky goes back to gazing ahead, but tries to making direct eye contact with the provocative reflection in the mirror.

You take the thigh, knee, and calf measurements in quick succession. Desperate to get out of here so your heartrate can return to something resembling a resting pace.

Time for the outseam. Your hand runs the measure over the line of his leg, from his hip down to his ankle. You swear the muscles in his thighs twitch as you do so.

Time for the inseam. Great. You finally look up.

“I need to get your inseam measurement. I offer my clients two options. I can place the tape measure myself and get the measurement that way or some clients feel more comfortable placing the top of the tape measure themselves.”

“I’ll do it.” Bucky responds tensely, taking the measure quickly from your hands because he is not going to be able to keep his cock under control if he has to feel you brushing against him through his boxers.

“You need to place the top against the place where all the seams of your boxers come together on the inside of your leg.” You look away so he can place it more comfortably.

“Like this?” His voice is strained.

You look back to check the positioning, slyly studying the shadow shapes at the front of his boxers with renewed curiosity.

“Close. Higher.” You instruct, words hitching in your throat.

His hand shifts subtly higher. Bucky can feel himself actually blushing. He’s not sure this was the best idea after all.

“There good.” And you quickly smooth the rest of the measure down the inside of his leg to his ankle.

“Let go.” It drops to the floor and you stand, and distract yourself with looking over the measurement sheet to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

“Now, do you know if you want a two or three piece suit?”

He stares back at you blankly.

“What would you suggest?”

Three piece suits were usually more appropriate for formal charity events; however, a three piece just seemed too…restricting for Bucky. You can tell he’s going to be uncomfortable enough as is it.

“Two. Color?”

He shrugs nonchalantly.

“I just want to blend in.”

“Then I would recommend a classic black.”

Bucky nods, clearly leaving everything up to you.

You purse your lips together in thought. The timeline was a little short for to make a suit from scratch but his was by the far the best body you’ve had the chance to work with. You selfishly want it to be your work alone that clothes him.

“I’ll make you something custom. From scratch.” The surprise is evident on his face.

“No please, you don’t have to. I don’t want to be any trouble,” Bucky says sheepishly.

“It’s no trouble, really. I’ll need to see you in two weeks for a fitting, make sure you have dress shoes,” You assure him, starting to pack your things away.

Dress shoes. Right. Maybe he isn’t depriving Natasha of a shopping trip after all. He goes over to the door to let you out.

 “Great. See you then, doll.” He shuts the door. He didn’t mean to call you doll. It had just kind of happened. It doesn’t matter now. He’s already palming himself through his boxers, allowing himself to finally harden from the lingering sensation of your touch ghosting over him.

On the other side of the door you pause. Doll? The term sends a rush of warmth straight down your spine and it settles anxiously in your stomach, filling you with a nervous exhilaration before you remind yourself he’s just another client, and you have a strict separate business and pleasure policy. Your heels echo down the hallway as you simultaneously dread and welcome the thought of the next fitting.

 


	2. The Second Fitting

Two weeks later you arrive with the suit mostly constructed in a garment bag. You’re very proud of it so far. You had selected the finest Italian wool, luxurious yet breathable, and black but with threads of darker blues woven in that one wouldn’t necessarily notice unless you were standing very close, but from a distance it adds a subtle dimension to the black. It was love at first sight when you had spotted it on the bolt, thinking of how well it would subtly complement the blue of his eyes. The jacket lining was going to be deep blue as well but you hadn’t put it in yet.

Bucky is friendly but reserved as he lets you in. Two weeks seems so long ago and you’ve been working so much overtime on this that you had almost forgotten the effect he had on you. Almost. Being confronted with how attractive he is in person is starting to give you a clear reminder.

You decide to get straight to business, laying the garment bag on the neatly made bed and unzipping it.

“If you could please, undress down to your boxers, Sergeant Barnes,” you instruct indifferently.

You busy yourself with setting out the tools you need for the fitting, but still glimpse the way he lithely slips out of his clothes in your periphery, teeth snagging on your bottom lip when the t-shirt slides up to reveal his perfectly sculpted torso.

For your sanity’s sake you quickly hand him a designer classic white button up. Fingers brushing as he takes it from you, sending electricity racing all the way up your arm. He manages to get it mostly buttoned but you help him with the buttons at the sleeves and finally with the ones at the top of the collar and you inwardly laugh at the irony of helping him into clothes when you would rather be taking them off.

He slips into the pants next and you make some adjustments around the waist.

Bucky has mentally sworn up and down that he’s going to be focused today but all of that goes completely out the window at the feeling of your hands grazing his waist. You’re efficient though and your hands are gone just when he’s really starting to savor it.

“I need to set the hem now.” You say avoiding his eyes as you hand him the pair of black dress shoes sitting at the foot of the bed.

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed to put the shoes on, making you wonder what it would be like to push him back and straddle his hips, savoring the image of having all that power beneath you.

Bucky stands fluidly, eyes meeting briefly, before you sink to your knees.

He’s overwhelming grateful for the pants this this time, because he can’t stop himself from starting to harden this time. Fingers dancing around the sensitive skin at his ankles. He can’t help but sneak a glance down at you; he notices the tense line of your shoulders and wonders what it would like to watch that tension melt away, wonders what lies under the layers of cool professionalism.

“Eyes forward, Sergeant”.  He thinks you must be some kind of spy and this whole thing is an elaborate set up by Stark because how could you possibly have known he was looking down for all of half a second.

You try to find a good length for the hem and pin as quickly as possible while still being precise. You’re certainly not unaware of what goes through most men’s minds when you have to do this and you’re curious if Bucky has similar thoughts. Your adrenaline spikes as you imagine him imagining what he would like you to do.

After pinning the hem, you stand to make sure it looks good from a distance. When your eyes meet Bucky’s you notice his gaze is different like last time when his pupils got all wide after you touched his cybernetic hand. The rim of blue left is heated.

You help him into the jacket next. Sliding it up those impossibly powerful arms and onto his shoulders.

Circling him so you can scrutinize your work, you think you’ve almost done too good of a job. If the line of his shoulders was sharp before, its _razor_ sharp now even though you only put in minimal padding and structure.

“Can you move in it? Is it comfortable?”

Bucky rolls his shoulders experimentally.

“Yeah, it feels great.”

And honestly, he’s pleasantly surprised because it is actually comfortable.

You’ve cut the jacket to taper in at the waist but you still pin it in a little more because you really just can’t help yourself. His body just begs to be shown off.

Suddenly there is a whoosh of air as the door is thrown open unexpectedly.

“Wow! Amazing, miracle worker I told you didn’t I?” Tony exclaims, striding in.

“Get out, Stark,” Buck replies, obviously annoyed.

“You are interrupting a private fitting, Mr. Stark.”

“Relax, I saw you come in on the security feed and just thought I’d drop by.”

“Everything is going well Mr. Stark. Now please leave, I take the privacy of my clients seriously,” you say tersely continuing to work.

“That looks custom. Is that custom? It’s custom. I think somebody likes you Barnes, that’s a lot of work isn’t it? To do in a month?”

You fight to keep from blushing.

“She doesn’t do that for everyone.” Tony fake whispers to Bucky.

You stop pinning and stand up straight, hands on your hips.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Stark?” Annoyance now creeping into your voice as well.

“Well yeah, you know since you’re putting so much work into this, why don’t you come to the event? At least come to the after party? So you can fully appreciate your work?” Tony smirks. “I mean you’re not doing anything that night. I mean you’re not now, because I’ve just personally invited you and that means you have to come.”

“I don’t know anyone to feel comfortable attending the event, Mr. Stark.”

Tony gasps.

“I’m offended. You know me? I’m the host of the party that’s all that matters. And you know good ol’ Bucky here. Alright? So I’ll see you there-” Tony says making his way out the door.

“Two people out of two hundred” -the door shuts “-isn’t enough”. You finish under your breath.

Sighing you turn back to Bucky and begin setting the hem for the sleeves.  You would love to see the finished results of your work and everyone else admiring it as well, you’re sure Bucky will the subject of quite a few envious looks throughout the night, but it’s a grey area between business and pleasure and you don’t mix business with pleasure. They’re becoming more and more difficult to keep separate with the veins on the back of Bucky’s hand begging to be traced over as you fiddle with the end of the sleeve.

Bucky’s mind is racing. Was Stark just fucking with him? Do you like him? Is that why you’re making this for him? Or were you just being nice? Stark is probably just fucking with him.

“Don’t let him tell you what to do,” Bucky says somewhat defensively because he hates how Stark just bosses people around sometimes, even if he is joking around. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Mr. Stark has good intentions but he’s going to be busy hosting and I’m sure you have a lovely date to entertain for the evening, Sergeant.”

For some reason the thought is just occurring to you. But how could he not have a date? The thought of some other woman hanging on his arm, touching his body through _your_ work has you slightly and suddenly jealous.

“And what makes you so sure I have a date, doll?” Bucky flirts, deciding to test the waters, because there’s only one way to find out whether you do actually like him or not.

“Well, you’re very handsome, Sergeant. I’m sure you’re not lacking for feminine attention.”

Bucky smirks at your composed response, noticing how the breath hitches in your throat just barely before you respond and how you avoid any eye contact.

“Well, sweetheart I actually don’t have a date.” Bucky says smartly like he’s confiding some kind of big secret in you.

That is just too fucking good to be true. Golden opportunity.

“If you’re implying that I should be your date, then I may remind you Sergeant that it would be incredibly unprofessional for me to date a client. I have a reputation to maintain.” You say sternly attempting to keep the resignation from coming through in your voice as you throw away your golden opportunity. You can’t be seen with a client at a major event like this; other men might get the idea that an escort service is included in your fees and that is not the case.

“And what about what _you_ want?” Bucky’s voice is pitched slightly lower than before.

 _Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up._ You know if you look up and meet that smolder he’s giving you while you’re now pretending to adjust the sleeve just so you have an excuse not to meet those bedroom eyes you know he’s giving you, you’re not going to be able to resist. You’ve never wanted anyone so badly before, and maybe that’s why you do. Fuck it.  You’ve spent the majority of your life following the rules, you want to do something self-serving. You look up.

“And what if I said I wanted you, Sergeant Barnes?” Your voice now sultry instead of sweet.

Bucky gently grabs your wrist with his right hand and caresses over the inside with the pad of this thumb, while bringing his face dangerously close to yours, blue lust filled orbs searching yours, breath fanning your cheeks, but he doesn’t kiss you. Instead his lips barely graze your jawline.

“I would say how do you want me, doll? Look at you, so fucking classy.”

And he glances appreciatively down your body, lips teasing a trail against your skin as he continues.

“Do you want me like this, all cleaned up and classy for you? Touching you like a gentleman should? Or do you want what classy girls like you can’t get?”

He tightens the grip on your wrist and circles his left arm around your waist, pulling you against him. And now his lips are against the shell of your ear.

 “Want me all muscle and sweat and I touch you rough enough to leave bruises on that pretty skin of yours? You talk about being professional, why don’t I fuck you real professionally on that desk over there, huh doll? You still going to call me ‘Sergeant Barnes’ when I slide that black skirt up your thighs and bury my face in your pussy?”

Something between a sigh and a moan, breathy and high pitched, escapes your lips.

“Oh yeah? You like that doll? Want me to lick that sweet, little pussy of yours? I bet you’re soaking wet already and I haven’t even really touched you yet.”

“Bucky,” his name falls from your lips wantonly.

“Nuh-uh, doll. We gotta stay professional remember?”

Bucky pulls back slightly from the crook of your jawline so he can watch you fall apart in his arms. Pupils blown wide, chest starting to heave, and biting your full bottom lip. He smirks smugly to himself.

“So what’s it gonna be, doll? How do you want me?”

Your words come out in a rush.

“I don’t care, I just, I want you, all of you, I need, need-“

Bucky cuts you off with a searing kiss. Lips molding firmly and moving deftly over yours. He nips at your bottom lip before just barely separating your mouths.

“S’okay, sweetheart, I know what you need,” he assures you quietly.

Bucky lifts you easily, too easily and brushes everything off the desk in one fell swoop, even though he does have a perfectly good bed he’s not going to let this professionalism thing go and before you can protest, he returns his mouth ardently to yours setting you down on the edge of the desk, slotting a thick thigh in between the v of your legs. You idly wonder if this desk can even handle what’s about to happen because it looks like something out of an Ikea catalog. All sense and reason simply melts from your conscience when his tongue slides sinfully over your bottom lip and into your mouth, stroking your tongue hungrily with his. Your hands are cupping the back of his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to keep his lips against yours.

Eventually you have to part for air and you take the opportunity to push the suit jacket roughly off his shoulders, not caring that there are still pins in it, and start popping open the buttons on that white designer button up. Your lips quickly cover each new inch of warm skin you expose and Bucky moans darkly. When you get to his abs, you slip both hands beneath the fabric to press insistently against the unyielding muscle, raking your nails over the rigid grooves.  Bucky hisses in surprise. You continue lower, pulling the shirt out of the pants and pushing that off his shoulders too so it can join the jacket on the floor.

Bucky buries his face into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking down to your cleavage before slipping a hand into the waistband of your skirt to untuck your blouse and slide it over your head.

You hear a sharp intake of breath as he admires your breasts through the expensive sheer nude silk and lace confection of a bra you’re wearing. You pride yourself on his reaction. You have an impressive collection of lingerie because you can afford it and you have an appreciation for the power of good clothing.

He palms your breasts through the delicate fabric and your head tilts back as you arch into the delicious pressure and sweet slide of silk against your nipples. He notices the clasp in front and deftly pops it open with the cybernetic fingers, hands reaching fluidly past the garment to cup your breasts. You sigh at the contrasting sensations of flesh and metal rolling your nipples to a peak. He kisses you softly before stepping back to toe off the dress shoes and socks and carefully remove the pants with pins gleaming at the hem of one leg. His cock is straining impressively at the front of his boxers, but he kneels on the floor between your legs, blue eyes shining up at you lethally. Your heels are still on and he caresses your ankle, gliding up your calf, kissing the inside of your knee before he starts pushing your skirt up.

He curses quietly when he gets past the top of your lace bordered stockings. Eyes glued to the garter belts running down the tops of your thighs. He remembers women from the 40s wearing these; he didn’t think women still wore them. He places a finger underneath one and experimentally snaps it against your skin. You moan in response.

“Do you always wear these?” Bucky asks lowly, a thrill running through him at thought of you having been on your knees for him, acting so damn composed while these garter belts, the expensive lingerie had been hiding under your skirt the whole time.

“Of course, Sergeant” you answer looking down at him with hooded eyes.

He groans against the top of your thigh, stubble skimming your skin and it goes straight to your core. Bucky unhooks the garters with reverence and then reaches up to slide your panties down your legs. He curses again when he sees how wet you are.

Once your panties hit the floor, he wastes no time in burying his face in your pussy as promised. Tongue sliding elegantly between your folds, he moans at the taste of you, and the sound thrums pleasantly against your clit. Your card a hand through his hair and place one on the desk behind you.

A string of breathy pleas and curses falls from your mouth as he continues to devour you. His tongue dances slow figure eights over your clit and two flesh fingers enter you easily. He deftly strokes your inner walls, and your whole body tightens in response.

“Sergeant…Sergeant Barnes,” you pant brokenly.

Bucky senses you’re close, so he sucks your clit between his lips and crooks his fingers inside you, letting you fall over the edge. And fall you do. Hand clenched tightly in his long hair, heels digging into his back, keening highly. He continues crooking his fingers inside you until you go limp and you whimper pitifully.

Bucky disentangles himself reluctantly from the inside of your thighs. When he stands, you can see a damp spot bleeding through the front of his boxers. You palm him briefly through the soft cotton and he sighs deeply, tilting his head down so your lips can meet. You tenderly suck on his bottom lip, eagerly tasting yourself.

Your hand slips insistently into the band of his boxers, and you both moan. He’s so impressively hard, you’re already getting turned on again at the thought of how thoroughly he’s going to fill you up. A strangled kind of noise escapes Bucky’s wrecked lips when your thumb swipes over the head, swirling through the slick fluid gathered there. You stroke him languidly, relishing the power you have over him before he stills your hand, stepping back so he can take off his boxers.

Meanwhile, you struggle to get out of your skirt. You finally manage to remove the offending garment, leaving you in garter belt, thigh highs and heels. Bucky resumes his place between your legs and your eyes glaze over at the sight of his cock. It’s gorgeous just like the rest of him and you know deep down all other men have been ruined.

Bucky splays the hand of his cybernetic against the wall behind you, bracing his weight against it. He lines himself up against your entrance. You whimper as he slides in, stretching you beautifully. He pauses halfway, panting.

“Fuck, doll, you feel so damn good.”

Your body goes slack with pleasure when he pushes in to the hilt.

Bucky fucks you slow. Nice and slow and so fucking good all you can do is cling to him, hands finding purchase on his shoulders, ankles locked behind his back. He fucks you slow, but that doesn’t mean it’s gentle. There’s a confident power in the roll of his hips, and his flesh hand is pressing fingertip shaped bruises just below your silk garter belt. You savor the languid glide of every inch of his cock against your walls.

Your face is buried in the crook of his neck, murmuring and panting encouragements, licking and laving your tongue over his pulse point.

“Bucky,” you plead desperately against the shell of his ear, feeling pleasure coil itself around your nervous system.

He ignores your use of his name, because it sounds too damn hot to correct you with your voice all wrecked and desperate.

“I’m gonna take care of you, doll, trust me” Bucky murmurs and you think this is probably the most intimate casual sex you’re ever going to have.

Bucky shifts the angle of hips so the head of his cock brushes wickedly against your spot, and increases the pace of his rolling thrusts just slightly in a way that has you seeing newly formed constellations behind your eyelids.

The only sounds are Bucky’s harsh breathing, your litany of pleas, and the faint whine of the desk beneath you. Your spine curves in a subconscious effort to get your hips closer to Bucky’s even though that would be physically impossible.

Bucky revels in the knowledge that he has you right where he wants you, wound up so fucking tight, ready to shatter into a million pieces just for him.

His cybernetic hand splays coolly between your shoulder blades, ready to catch you as his flesh hand slips between the melding of your hips, dancing tactfully over your clit.

The constellations behind your eyes start to light up, every ounce of pleasurable tension in your body snapping simultaneously as Bucky’s name is torn from your lips, shuddering exquisitely against his body as his cock continues to draw out your orgasm. Bucky moans curses at the feeling of you constricting and fluttering around him, the rhythm of hips starting to falter.

You can’t help but pepper kisses along his jawline as he stills inside you because he’s so beautiful like this, shadows between his muscles deepening as his breath comes heavier, lips parted just slightly, blue eyes falling shut. He angles his head to meet your lips and you share a lazy, contented kiss that diminishes into a series of short chaste kisses until your foreheads are simply pressed together and you’re staring in to each other’s eyes.

“So, how do you feel about being my date now?” Bucky teases.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to consider it,” you tease back and you both laugh quietly.

Bucky pulls away, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he does so.

You look mournfully at your completely rumpled skirt as you go about putting your clothes back on. There’s no way you’re going to walk out of here inconspicuously; the best case scenario you can hope for is avoiding Tony on the way out.

Bucky puts on boxers and sweatpants but remains shirtless as he helps you gather the suit pieces from the floor.

“So, I’ll need to see you in a week and a half for a final fitting.” You manage to inform him with some kind of restored propriety.

“Sure thing, doll”. Bucky says easily; eyes sparkling mischievously, swinging the door open to let you out. “But if you need to see me before then you know for anything, you have my number.”

You roll your eyes playfully.

“Of course, Sergeant.”

Bucky shakes his head and you throw him a half smile over your shoulder before he shuts the door behind you.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, the ending is open, but idk if I'll actually write the final fitting or the event. I'm horrible.


	3. Final Fitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the positive comments you guys! It really means so much to me! Here's Ch.3, I feel like its pretty short compared to the other ones, but I wanted to go ahead and get it out so I didn't end up spending like two weeks on it. Will probably write one more chapter that will be the actual event or whatnot.

When Bucky answers the door this time, he answers in nothing but boxers and a roguish expression; shoulder length hair pulled back into a low bun.

You allow your eyes to travel briefly before brushing past him.

“Already tired of me asking you to take your clothes off, Sergeant Barnes?” You ask

“Not at all. Just thought I’d save you the trouble, doll,” he answers simply.

You roll your eyes, unzipping the garment bag and start handing him pieces. He puts on each piece with care. You have the glove this time, black leather, soft and thin so it doesn’t hinder the capability of the hand. It slides over the chrome like butter. You had also taken the liberty of picking out a tie and pocket square as well. The tie is charcoal and light grey patterned silk.

You step close to him as you have so many times before and slip the tie under the collar, knotting it expertly. Bucky looks down, tracking the movement of your hands with interest. You fold the matching pocket square next and slip it into the pocket at his chest.

Stepping back to admire the finished result, he looks—stunning. The black suit perfectly accentuating the lines of his body, the blue tones _just_ noticeable, and the midnight blue silk lining of the jacket peeks out when he lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck nervously, a few strands of hair falling across his face in  the process.

 “Wow, this is—thank you.” And he doesn’t need to say any more than that because his expression radiates gratitude.

“I’m glad you like it.”  You reply demurely.

“What are you going to wear?” Bucky asks raising an eyebrow.

“What am _I_ going to wear? I don’t believe I ever agreed to go, Sergeant,” you tease smartly.

Bucky scoffs.

“Still playing hard to get, sweetheart?” Heat edging into his voice.

“Well, you never actually asked me, per say, Sergeant,” because technically he hasn’t.

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully.

“Will you please be my date, doll?” Bucky asks sincerely, pulling you to him.

“Yes, Bucky, I’ll be your date,” you acquiesce, delight swelling within you at the thought.

His mouth slots perfectly against yours, lips moving insistently against each other after the time apart.

You pull away.

“Suit comes off first this time,” you say remembering how it ended up on the floor last time and that is most certainly not going to happen this time now that it’s finished.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

With a certain amount of unhurriedness, you start to undo the tie, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s pulse point as you slide it off. You continue undressing him with measured ease, piece by piece putting everything back into the garment bag. Bucky’s tongue flicking out anxiously along his bottom lip. By the time you’re sliding the leather glove off the cybernetic hand, he’s huffing impatiently.

“Good things come to those who wait, Sergeant.”

“I’ve been waiting since you walked out my door two weeks ago, sweetheart.”

He takes a shallow breath as you pop the button on his pants and pull the zipper down slowly, his length already hardening.

You lean up kissing him fully as you push the pants slightly down his hips, he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth but you break away before your tongues can meet.

You step back, starting to undress yourself in an effort to save your own clothes this time as well. Bucky takes the hint and finishes toeing off his dress shoes and getting out of the pants.

A low curse escapes Bucky lips when your lingerie is revealed. Black this time. You leave it on.

Heels clicking softly as you return to him, still truly awed by his body, he lets you simply touch him. Fingers stroking lightly up both arms relishing the textural differences beneath your fingertips, then along his collarbone, kissing the curved indentation above it. Trailing down the cleft between his pecs next. Your panties becoming deliciously wet as you skim your hands down his sides. You’re overcome with the desire to make him come apart.

Bucky lifts your chin with his flesh hand and kisses you hungrily. Moaning into your mouth as your swipe your thumbs over his the v of his hips and then down settling a hand over his swollen cock. You work him over for a while through his boxers while continuing to ravish each other’s mouths. Bucky breaks away and you sense he’s getting ready to move you to the bed, but you stop the motion with a hand on his shoulder, eyes gleaming at him mischievously.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” Bucky pants needily.

“I’m just getting started,” you whisper hotly against his ear, before sinking to your knees, burying your face in the valley of his lower abs like you’ve been dying to do, lips skimming plateaus of defined muscle, tugging his boxers down his legs when you hit the waistband.

You stare at his cock avidly, wanting nothing more than to absolutely have him falling apart just from your mouth.

“You have increased stamina right, Sergeant?” You ask somewhat rhetorically, you have an idea but you want to make sure.

“You bet, doll,” Bucky says lowly in a voice just for you as you stroke his cock leisurely.

With that confirmation, your lips envelope the round head of his cock, tongue swirling around the head, savoring the masculine taste of him. Your tongue thoroughly laves the underside of the head while you keep a hand on the thick base.

A series of choked off noises falls from Bucky’s mouth, flesh hand carding through your hair.  You start working more of him into your mouth earnestly, head bobbing steadily. You come up for air, gazing lustfully up at Bucky as you increase the rhythm of your hand around his cock. More strands of hair have fallen around Bucky’s eyes as he looks down at you, framing his face beautifully. Lips bitten shiny and red. The faintest hint of heat in his cheeks.

You take him into your mouth again, managing with some difficulty to swallow him down to the base this time, Bucky’s hips thrusting involuntarily against the back of your throat. He catches himself though and it’s only shallowly. You pull back, bobbing up and down to the middle of the shaft, hand pumping the places your mouth can’t reach. You sense he’s close when the muscles in his thighs start tensing, and he tugs on the back of your head, but you only swallow down more of him, letting him hit the back of your throat again.

He moans loudly when he realizes what your intentions are, rolling his hips gently as you suck harder, until he curses above you, spilling for long seconds down your throat. You endeavor to swallow all of it, flicking your tongue over his sensitive tip before pulling away.

Bucky hauls you up eagerly, crashing his mouth against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart, that was—fuck, c’mere,” he rambles breathlessly against your lips, expertly popping the clasp on your bra with his cybernetic hand, pushing you back on the bed, immediately going for your breasts. Licking and sucking messily. He pushes your panties to the side, to stroke you with two flesh fingers.

“Jesus, you’re so soaking, fucking, so wet, just from getting me off, fuck,” he murmurs mostly to himself, plunging his fingers in easily causing your back to arch in ecstasy. It doesn’t take long before Bucky is impressively hard again and he’s thoroughly fingered you.

He doesn’t even bother taking your panties off, too hurried to deal with the garter belts, just enters you swiftly while holding them to the side. He fucks you with none of the careful control he showed last time. There’s an urgency this time. Friction building deliciously with every thrust. He pauses so he can position one of your gartered and stockinged legs to rest against his shoulder, the new angle making you considerably tighter. He resumes thrusting with renewed vigor, stroking your clit, until you’re clenching around him and he’s throbbing inside you.

Bucky rolls off you and the sound of ragged breath fills the air as you lay side by side.

“I don’t think you should be my date anymore,” Bucky says breaking the silence, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“And why is that?” You respond playing along. 

“Because I’m not going to be able to behave around you, doll, not that I know what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours.”

Bucky half teases, pulling you into his chest.

You have another appointment later today, but you decide it’s not going to be the end of world if you’re a few minutes late as you allow yourself to relax into his strong embrace.


	4. The Night Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, this is the end! I have some other things I've been really wanting to write, but I can't seem to write fast enough, and I feel like this chapter is kind of weak as a result of that.

The cab pulls up to the front of the Avengers tower, only one of many cabs and limousines crowding in to drop off attendees. You spot Bucky standing at the curb waiting for you. It doesn’t do anything to help the nervous pit in your stomach. Here you are, just a normal, average person getting ready to socialize with the Avengers and the highest ends of New York society. Working for them is one thing, socializing is another. You can’t possibly hope to have anything in common with these people. Sure you do well for yourself but you’re not filthy rich, rolling in money and you certainly don’t have any superhuman abilities.

You exit the cab, thankful you don’t trip over the hem of your evening gown in your state of anxiety. Bucky’s gaze immediately finding you and those blue eyes give you a thorough once over as you approach.

Bucky’s breath catches at the sight of you dressed to perfection in an elegant black evening gown. Ways to get you out of it already running through his mind. Hair curled and styled in a way that nudges at his memories of the 40s. Lips red as sin. A dainty string of jewels accentuating the base of your throat.

He kisses you affectionately on the cheek.

“Wow, you look—amazing.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Sergeant,” taking in his clean shaven jawline. Hair pulled back into a neat little bun. He looks…younger, more carefree somehow. Maybe it’s just the light in his eyes.

“Shall we, doll?” Bucky says, offering you his right arm.

You take it, circling your arm through his, pride swelling within you that you’ll be the subject of more than one envious glance tonight.

There is some mingling before the dinner. Bucky introduces you to everyone. Steve of course is first. He seems genuinely happy for Bucky. Everyone is welcoming and compliments you on your work as they take in Bucky’s suit. Bucky is surprisingly well behaved. The hand resting on your lower back doesn’t drift any lower. Tony as you predicted is entertaining his well to do friends.

Eventually everyone starts heading into another room for dinner at Tony’s urging. Bucky sits next to Steve, you sit next to Bucky on the right, and Natasha sits next to you. Tony sits at the head of the immense table, of course. You look down the table and you don’t even want to know how much some of these people have paid to be in this room, but at least it’s for a good cause.

The first course is served and you’re getting ready to take a bite, when you feel Bucky’s lips graze your ear.

“I can think of something else I’d rather be eating,” he whispers lowly.

Two can play this game. You slide your left hand half way up his thigh below the table and squeeze lightly, giving him a sideways glance. He clears his throat. Steve looks at him questioningly, but continues eating.

Bucky can’t slip his hand under the table since you’re on his right and his right hand is currently wielding a fork. So he’s limited to whispering pure filth in your ear during occasional breaks in conversation.

_“Maybe I’ll eat you through those pretty lace panties of yours, doll.”_

_“You’re going to be disappointed, Sergeant Barnes, I’m not wearing any panties.”_

Bucky traps his lower lip in his teeth to keep from moaning out loud because Jesus, you’re sitting next to him with not a stitch on under that fancy dress acting like everything is fine with your thumb drawing circles on the inside of his thigh under the table.

Thor is sitting across from Steve.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” he asks in his naturally resonant Asgardian voice.

Bucky looks up, god half the table must be looking in your direction now.

“Yeah, the food, is just, so good,” Bucky plays off.

Thor laughs heartily. “Right you are, my friend.” And everyone resumes their previous conversations.

Dinner ends five courses later and everyone moves to the ballroom for more mingling and dancing as well. Proper dancing complete with live soft jazz band.

Tony takes this opportunity to drag Bucky around to various people of importance so they can make small talk and people can say firsthand how they’ve seen that the Winter Soldier has been “reformed” and its okay that he’s part of the Avengers. You stay at Bucky’s side, smiling and nodding, watching his jaw clench as he catches the whispers of each group of people he walks away from.

“Mr. Stark, may I cut in for a dance with my guy?” You tease lightly, seeing that Bucky is starting to get annoyed.

Tony looks at you with mock offense.

“I’m the one who invited you and this is how you treat me, unbelievable.” He says giving you a wink and grabbing a passing champagne flute from a tray as you lead Bucky to the edge of the dance floor.

Bucky wraps an arm around your waist, and you begin slow dancing, bodies pressed together, swaying gently to the music.

“Thanks, doll.”

“Of course.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“What about the after party?”

“We can have our own after party.” He smirks.

Before you can respond, Steve is clapping a hand firmly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“This one’s for you, Buck.” Steve says warmly.

Bucky looks momentarily confused before he catches the band picking up a 1940s swing rhythm.

“C’mon Steve, you know it’s been 70 years since I’ve done that,” Bucky groans playfully.

“I know you, Buck. Show this girl a good time.” Steve grins stepping off the dance floor.

“Only if you do too,” Bucky pleads, not necessarily eager to be the center of attention.

“Fine, but you know I could never dance to begin with,” Steve relents grabbing a passing Natasha, who is on the dance floor before she can protest.

“You owe me one, Rogers,” Natasha grits out as Steve and Bucky’s feet easily pick up the beat. Sweeping you and Natasha across the floor. It isn’t long before Bucky twirls you away from him easily and brings you back in again, dipping you low. Grinning wickedly before passing you across to Steve and reaching for Natasha. Blushing as you’re faced with the firm wall of muscle that is Steve and his noble jawline. For someone who claims they never knew how to dance Steve is doing pretty well. They switch you back after a few measures and it’s good to be back in Bucky’s familiar arms. He dips you one last time as the song ends, eyes drifting down to your cleavage before bringing you back up.

There’s scattered applause from those who have been watching in the crowd, but a good amount of people are trailing out by this point in the evening.

“You’re sticking around for the after party right?” Tony’s face suddenly appearing in the gap between you and Bucky. “I absolutely have to know what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

Bucky looks at you, eyes begging you to say no, desperate to get you alone, get you out of that dress.

You glance from Bucky to Tony, Tony to Bucky, to Tony.

“Of course, we’ll be staying Mr. Stark,” you answer enthusiastically.

“Get a drink in this girl’s hand, Barnes. For science.” Tony orders, walking away.

“You’re such a tease, doll,” Bucky whispers against your ear; your spine tingling from the register of his voice. “Driving me insane. You have no idea what I’m gonna do to you.” Hands drifting down your hips momentarily before coming back up to your waist.

“Oh I have an idea,” you reply seductively.

“What do you drink?” He murmurs against the crook of your jaw.

“Vodka martinis.”

Reluctantly, Bucky pulls away and heads towards the bar. You hate to see him go, but admire the sight of watching him walk away.

Steve takes his place at your side.

“He likes you.”

“I like him.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Steve warns sternly, voice going all Captain America.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I’m just kidding,” he apologizes sheepishly clapping you on the back when he sees you’re startled expression.

Luckily Bucky is returning with drinks. You gladly start sipping down the vodka after the scare Steve just gave you. Bucky has whisky neat; he swallows it beautifully.

“What’re you telling my girl, Steve?”

“Only the good stuff. Has he told you about the time when…” Steve starts, guiding you over to the couch as you listen with interest. Bucky following, already downing the rest of his drink.

Steve tells stories from the 40s, while Bucky argues with him about the details and keeps bringing you drinks until you’re on your fourth martini, pleasantly buzzed, leaning heavily into Bucky, who’s had a never ending line of whiskies. The bass from the DJ pumping through you, and you don’t know when but at some point, the lights were lowered.

Steve gets up for some reason or another. You don’t pay attention to why because all you can focus on is how badly you want Bucky’s firm body against yours.

“C’mon.” You stand, tugging on his tie. “I wanna dance.”

“We already danced, sweetheart, let’s get out of here.”

“You’ll like it. I promise.”

And Bucky can’t help but be dragged along back to the dance floor where the bass is loudest, thrumming up through the floor. Bucky grabbing your hips as you curve your body to the beat, slotting back against him, one arm circling around his neck. You press your ass against the crotch of his pants, feeling that he’s half hard already and you wonder how long he’s been like that.

Tony walks by, pausing when he notices the filthy way you and Bucky are coiling against each other.

“I knew it! I knew you were a wild one!” Tony exclaims pointing a finger at you.

You smile, rolling your eyes and continue dancing.

Tony smirks and leaves you to it. You’re not sure if Bucky even noticed the exchange because his face has been buried in your neck, nuzzling against your skin. Trying to hold onto some last bit of composure even though he would love nothing more than to leave blue and purple marks all along your throat.

Twisting in Bucky’s arms to face him, he slots a thigh between yours as well as he can through the layers of your dress.

“Hey, Bucky.” Your voice sultry against his ear.

“Hmmm.”

“What’d you say we get out of here?”

You’re loose and warm all over, want that has been latent beneath your skin all night finally coming to surface, ready to be scratched. You immediately have Bucky’s full attention.

“Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart,” Bucky answers, taking you by the hand, and you both manage to slip away unnoticed without having to make any hasty goodbyes.

Bucky all but throws himself against you in the elevator, hands frantically mapping out your body, desperate to feel as much of you at one time as possible. You start loosening the tie, sucking kisses above the collar of his shirt, savoring the new smooth sensation of his jawline beneath your fingertips.

The elevator dings open and Bucky carries you bridal style to his room.  Everything a blur of hands and discarded clothes as you tear at each other. Bucky’s eyes widening when he sees that you weren’t lying about the panties. The evening gown drops efficiently to the floor, leaving you completely bare. He kisses you all desire and no finesse, the amber taste of whisky still heavy on his tongue. Your hands knotting in his hair, tugging at the hair band, until his hair is loose around his shoulders.

Tossing you back on the bed, his face is buried between your thighs before you can even blink. Licking you open with no preamble, lips humming in approval at finding you soaking wet. Sucking your clit into his mouth, before moving down, tongue dipping in between your folds and fluttering inside you. He alternates expertly between stimulating your clit and tongue fucking you until you come with his tongue stroking your walls, hand fisted in his hair as he mercilessly licks you clean.

“Fuck, doll, I’m sorry, you just taste so good, could eat your pussy all night,” he murmurs into your skin, lips and chin glistening with your release, making his way back up your body.

You reach for his cock, heavy and leaking, overly sensitive from hours of teasing, Bucky shudders at the lightest stroke as you guide him to your entrance.

“I want you to fuck me hard, Bucky.” You look up at him wantonly, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth and letting it go with a soft pop.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, been waiting for this all night,” he groans, slamming into you, back arching off the bed at the sensation of being stretched so fully without being fingered first.

Bucky thrusts into you powerfully, attentively noting all of your reactions, the knit of your eyebrows, the rake of nails down his back, changing his angle to give you just what you need. Your legs locking behind his back to drive him deeper within you.

“I’m not gonna last, doll,” Bucky pants, increasing his pace, thick head of his cock brushing your g-spot every time.

“I’m right there, Bucky-“ you keen highly before everything goes black, hips rolling against Bucky’s with the force of your orgasm as Bucky stills, mouth falling open in a perfect “o” as he finds the release he’s been searching for, hovering above you blissfully for long moments, reluctant for it to end. 

In the aftermath, you curl against each other limp and weightless from your ecstasy, too tired to dream of what the future may hold, only savoring the present press of skin against skin in the quiet of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, just accept that basically everything I write is going to end with falling asleep in each others arms because I'm lazy and unoriginal. No, but really, I try, and this is all I manage to come up with. Feel free to put suggestions for endings you'd like to read in the comments! Or submit to my blog jamesfckmebarnes.tumblr.com .


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